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“Is that polite for ‘you’re a hot mess’?”

“I didn’t say that.” She laughs.

“But you thought it.”

“Maybe.” She moves closer to me. “But it’s okay to have trauma. Mine comes from my parents loving our baby brother more than both Reid and me put together. So, the only person I ever truly trust is Reid. It doesn’t impact me on a daily basis, but there’s probably a reason none of my relationships to date have worked out.”

“I didn’t realize that,” I say quietly. “And I’m sorry. It’s just my mom and sister on my end. My dad died when I was eight. I barely remember him, except that he used to yell a lot. After he died, my mom seemed happier. My sister and me too, I guess. I swore I would be a better husband and father than he was—but I guess I wasn’t.”

“She cheated,” she says firmly. “That’s not a failure on your part. Remember that, Cash. Maybe you weren’t the best husband, but an unhappy woman communicates what she needs.” She pauses. “Did she?”

“Not in a healthy way. It was more like, ‘so I guess you won’t be at the premiere on Friday, right?’ Even though she knew damn well I was in Alaska or Winnipeg or whatever.”

“Well, even if she did communicate that, you couldn’t just leave the team for something like that. Did she not understand that part when she married you?”

“I thought she did,” I say carefully. “But that’s the thing about Jake—he was always right there. We went to school together and even though I went to the NHL and he went to L.A., we always stayed close. I trusted him.

“But I think he was undermining me from the get-go. I would say something about how distant she seemed, and he would tell me it was my imagination. At some point, I guess he made his move.”

“And she let him. If she truly loved you, she wouldn’t have.”

“I harbor no illusions that she truly loved me,” I say quietly. “She was doing okay when we met, but then her career took off. That’s when things went sideways.”

“Do you worry about being involved with another woman with a successful career?”

She really doesn’t beat around the bush.

From anyone else, I would have long since shut this conversation down.

But with Maya, it’s not just reasonable, I also think it’s necessary.

For both of us.

“There’s a part of me that does, yes.”

“Who’s your dream woman?” she asks casually. “The one that ticks all your boxes.”

You.

I don’t know where the thought comes from or why I would think it, but not only do I think it, I almost say it out loud. I catch myself in time and fumble around for a more reasonable response.

“I’m not sure anymore,” I admit. “In my head, she’s independent but also would want to be waiting at home for me. Looks are important, of course, but that’s so subjective I don’t think it’s truly part of the equation.”

“Someone you’re attracted to.”

“Yes.”

“And someone who isn’t interested in your best friend.”

I lift one shoulder. “I don’t have one of those anymore, but yes, that would be mandatory as well.” I pause. “What about you? Who’s your perfect guy?”

“Someone who gets me,” she says softly. “And someone who’s not intimidated by my success. I travel and have more work than I can handle. This fall is going to be a bit of an anomaly because I took on two passion projects that make me happy—the off-Broadway show I was doing all summer and now the Dusty Peaks reboot. I’m friends with the producers of both shows, and they reached out to me personally, so even though it’s not my normal rate, I took the jobs with the understanding that I’ll have to go back and forth between them.”

“What happens when they’re done?” I ask curiously. “And there isn’t really an end date for a TV show, right?”

“Not unless it gets cancelled. Next summer I’m supposed to be on a movie set in Vancouver, but the timing works out because I can design the costumes, have them made, and do the fittings, hopefully before the next season of Dusty Peaks gets going.”

“I’m not trying to jinx anything, but what’s the plan if Dusty Peaks doesn’t come back for a second season?”